


It's Not Your Fault

by chrystal896



Series: The Wonderful World of R [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Triggers, everybody needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:11:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrystal896/pseuds/chrystal896
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes only time can teach you that it's not your fault. James Bond does his best though, and takes care of R when he needs him the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened. It's not Brit-picked. And it's unbeta-ed. But I had an idea and I ran with it. This should be read in conjunction with Fears, Phobias, and Falling in Love because if you haven't read that or In Which Q Meets R (Both part of The Wonderful World of R), then you are going to be completely lost as to my version of R and why on earth Bond is dating him instead of Q. (I have nothing wrong with Bond/Q - but I wanted to dump my character in there). I don't own anything other than the ideas in my head and the computer on which I type on. Kudos and comments are love!

James Bond was exhausted and had a new found loathing of Canada but other than that, he was fine. At least as far as Medical was concerned. MI6’s most infamous 00 was more than ready to escape the confines of Headquarters, preferably with R in tow, and have food, sex, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

 

If he could ever leave the bloody building.

 

Staring down at the ID badge in his hand, he furrowed his brow and tried to figure out what precisely had changed in the last half hour. The badge had clearly let him into the building, into Medical and back out into the hallway. However, now the little LED light absolutely refused to turn green to let him into Q-Branch. He swiped it again. Red. _Swipe_. Red.

 

His phone chirped.

 

With a huff, he scoured the hallways until he spotted the closest camera. Giving it his trademark scowl, he dug his phone out and swiped up to look at the message – sender unknown.

 

:: Go home ::

 

If it had been R, he would have identified himself using one of the codes they’d worked out early on in their relationship, but the message was clearly coming from Q-branch. Bond stared at his phone and then glanced back up with the camera with irritation.

 

In his hand, it chirped again.

 

:: Go home now ::

 

Swiftly, he texted back.

 

:: Trying. Why? ::

 

When his phone chirped again, there was no message, only an attachment. Thumbing it open, he leaned back against the wall, and began scanning a preliminary after action report. The normally busy hallway during the day was silent around him, only the familiar hiss of the air handlers and hum of the lights to keep him company as most sane individuals had made their way home long ago.

 

The more he read, the more resigned his face became until he finally hit the end. The mission had gone badly, very badly. The 00 in question had survived, barely, but three of the regular agents had been killed as well as eight civilians from an unpredicted source. The intel had been sound, but even with the best of intel, a mission always had a chance of going wrong and this one had turned into a massive clusterfuck. The mission had been scrubbed – there would be an inquiry.

 

And R had been the one running it.

 

“Shit,” he breathed as the implications sank in.

 

Chirp.

 

:: Exactly. Go home. ::

 

Giving a nod of thanks toward the camera, Bond set off resolutely down the hall toward the garage, his weariness forgotten. The youthful second in command of Q-Branch had only been in charge of running Ops on his own for a short time and as far as Bond knew, this was R’s first failure. And the mission had not only failed but also resulted in multiple deaths. Over time, he would no doubt become desensitized as they all had. In time, he would realize that not everything could be controlled and that shit happens. With time, he would understand that it was not his fault.

 

But that was the future. As Bond sped through the darkened streets, his concern only grew. He had no idea how R had taken it, but if the minions were worried about their Chief then so was he.

 

With ease borne from too many break-ins, Bond slipped past R’s security measures and let the door shut behind him with a soft click and gazed around the dark flat.

 

When Bond flicked on the lamp beside him, he winced as the yellow light flooded the room. Once his eyes got used to the light, he spotted the figure curled up on top of the kitchen counter, a bottle of vodka resting, almost half empty, beside him.

 

“R?”

 

The man didn’t move, and Bond cautiously slipped past the couch and rounded the edge of the counter to stare at R who was sitting cross-legged on top of it. There was a tumbler still half filled hanging loosely in his right hand while his head was braced in the palm of his left. He clearly hadn’t bothered changing from work, other than to loosen his tie and Bond began to wonder just how long he’d been sitting there. Long enough to empty more than a third of the bottle, because he was fairly certain that the bottle had been sitting in the freezer almost full. As a general rule, Bond preferred Scotch and R tended to drink wine, if he drank at all.

 

Carefully, Bond tugged the tumbler out of R’s fingers and set it on the counter out of reach. As an afterthought, he nudged the bottle further away as well. The sound of the bottle scraping along the counter seemed to stir R out of his stupor and he jerked upright only to sway alarmingly. Bond snagged him by the collar and steadied him before letting his hands slide over and grip his shoulders lightly.

 

“R?” He tried again.

 

R blinked at him owlishly and then gave him a bright, fake, goofy smile. “Hey, James.”

 

“Hey, yourself.” Bond responded with a soft smile. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

 

“Going on?” R looked around the room confused. “Nothing?” His fingers fidgeted in his lap before they began inching toward the tumbler that Bond had set aside.

 

Bond watched the movement out of the corner of his eye as he gripped R’s chin and tilted it back so that their eyes met. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” He asked gently.

 

R’s eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head. “Nope,” he said fervently, swaying toward the glass again. Before he could reach it, Bond snatched it up and tossed back the contents with a grimace before reaching past R and depositing it in the sink. “Pretty sure you have, love,” Bond said with a sigh, moving his hands back to grip at R’s shoulders.

 

“That was mine,” R snapped, one hand coming up to push at Bond’s chest. “Get off.”

 

“You’ll fall,” Bond warned drily but lifted his hands in surrender. Sure enough, without Bond to brace him, R listed to one side before losing his balance and flopping all the way over with a thud.

 

“I fell over,” R marveled as he began giggling.

 

“Yes, yes you did,” Bond murmured, trying to wrestle him back up to sitting. R continued to giggle but also began to flap his hand toward the waiting bottle of vodka.

 

“Not happening,” Bond said, gritting his teeth. “I think it’s time you had some water.”

 

Wrinkling his nose, R stared at Bond in consternation. “Water? What’s water?” He broke off into giggles again as Bond mentally began counting in Russian. At least now he knew why R rarely drank hard liquor. As R continued to giggle and sway, Bond began calculating how best to get water into his boyfriend without him falling off the counter or managing to get at the bottle again.

 

Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the best, he finally decided. He gently pried R’s legs apart before reaching down and scooping R up. R flopped loose-limbed against him as they moved across the flat.

 

“Gonna have your wicked way with me?” R slurred against his neck and Bond hid a laugh.

 

“Not tonight, love.”

 

R actually whined at that before nuzzling his neck. “Don’t you want me?”

 

“Yes,” Bond bit out as he deposited him on the bed. “But oddly enough, I’d prefer you awake enough to remember it.”

 

Sprawling out, R stared up at Bond for a moment before letting his eyes fall closed. “ ‘m sorry,” he said sadly. “I don’t—“ he paused for a minute and then tried again. “I can’t—,” he finally growled in frustration and rolled over, burying his head underneath a pillow.

 

Taking the chance while he was distracted, Bond left and grabbed a couple of bottles of water and some aspirin before returning to the bedroom. R hadn’t moved in the interim and Bond dropped the items on the bedside table before attempting to wrestle R out of his clothes. The shoes and socks were easy enough to slip off and chuck across the room and so those were the first that Bond tackled.

 

Once the shoes were off, he ignored the whine of protest as he yanked the pillow off R’s head. “We need to get you out of that shirt,” he said, gently tugging R up into sitting position.

 

“I like my shirt,” R blinked at Bond curiously. “You got me this shirt, remember?”

 

Bond nodded his head as his fingers deftly undid the tie. “I remember. It also smells like vodka and I’m not letting you sleep in it.”

 

Tilting his head, R shrugged and squinted at the buttons as he pulled on them fruitlessly. “They’re stuck.” He giggled.  


To deter him from _helping_ , Bond handed R an uncapped bottle of water and with a shake of his head muttered, “Start drinking.” While R was suitably distracted, both the tie and the shirt were disposed of swiftly. The undershirt was a problem and no small amount of water was spilt in the effort, but eventually, R sat in front of him on the bed, staring at Bond curiously.

 

“You sure you don’t want sex?” He blurted out. “Cause I can totally do sex right now.”

 

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” replied Bond, efficiently stripping off his own tie.

 

R stared down at the bottle and fiddled with the edges. “I’m sorry. You came back. You came back too soon.”

 

Bond paused in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. “What do you mean?”

 

The water was starting to help, but Bond could tell things were still fairly muddled in R’s brain. At least he had finally stopped giggling.

 

“You came back too soon. It’s not tomorrow yet.” R said again as he blinked up at him.

 

“ It’s not—Well, you aren’t wrong, actually.” Bond said as he glanced at the bedside clock. “It will be in about an hour though.”

 

“See,” R said accusingly. “Not tomorrow.”

 

Bond nodded slowly as he finished stripping off his shirt. “And why is now too soon?”

 

“…you weren’t s’posed to see this.” R muttered, returning to staring at the empty water bottle in his hands.

 

“If I hadn’t been here, you would have drank yourself to death.” Bond said, giving up on his belt buckle in favor of kneeling in between R’s legs. He tilted R’s chin up but R glanced away. “Hey, look at me. Why didn’t you want me to see this?”

 

R scrubbed his hand through his hair in agitation as he looked everywhere but at Bond. “Cause I fucked up.”

 

“How?” Bond asked quietly.  


“They died. I fucked up.”

 

“You’re repeating yourself, love.” Bond caught R’s wrist and pressed his lips against his pulse point briefly. “I heard what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Shaking his head, R tried to pull away. “Yes, it was. I ran the op. They died, James. My fault. I missed something.”

 

“Sometimes there isn’t anything to miss,” Bond began but R was still shaking his head.

 

“Should’ve seen it. My fault,” he whispered morosely, curling in on himself. Bond reached up and curled his fingers around the back of R’s head, pitching him forward until his forehead rested on Bond’s shoulder. Soothingly he ran his fingers through the short black hairs.

 

“Not your fault,” he whispered into the ear next to his mouth. “It’s not your fault, R.”

 

Underneath his fingers, R shuddered, letting out a pained whimper and Bond brought up his other arm to wrap around R’s back. Rubbing his fingers gently over the warm skin, he kept repeating himself. “It’s not your fault.”

 

Eventually, Bond felt the tense muscles under his fingers relax and R sagged forward. Lowering him back down, Bond finished the job of stripping off R’s trousers and pants while he slept before tucking him under the blankets. Daring to take a quick shower to scrub off what little remained of Canada, he finally crawled into bed beside R and pulled at the younger man. Blindly, R flailed before finally stilling curled up tight against Bond, his breath ghosting across the damp skin.

 

As he was about to drift off, he felt R’s lips move against his chest as he murmured, “Thanks.”

 

Bond began carding his fingers through R’s hair again. R always accused him of being like a great cat, but he never wanted to admit that he enjoyed head rubs almost as much as Bond did. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered one last time, curling around R as much as he could. “One day you’ll know it’s not your fault.”

 

 


End file.
